


Nightmares and Guarded Hearts

by Delightful_I_Am



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Other, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delightful_I_Am/pseuds/Delightful_I_Am
Summary: Stiles tries to stay awake. It doesn't work.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have a serious problem. Read now, hate me later.

The first few weeks after - well, after everything - Stiles doesn’t sleep well. That’s if he sleeps at all. It’s when he screams himself awake for what feels like the thousandth time, that he decides to just stop trying to sleep, and instead tries to stay awake. It seems to work at first, sure he yawns in class a lot, but he’s certainly not the only one in his group. Once Scott and Isaac finally manage to come back to school, and Lydia stops avoiding them all like the plague, he notices they all have dark circles under their eyes.

He first thinks that maybe it’s not working as well as he thought when it takes four red bulls to do the work of one. Or maybe it’s when he finds himself at school, jeep parked in his usual spot, with no memory of how he got there. He counts his fingers three times before he lets himself believe he’s awake. Or maybe it’s when the words in his history textbook start shifting on the page, the teacher talking in what doesn’t sound like any language Stiles even has a limited grasp on. All he knows is it’s not working as well as it used to, and that means he needs to try something else.

He first gets the idea when they’re all over at Derek’s place. This broken little pack trying to reel itself back together; Isaac curled in against Scott, Kira standing behind them running soft fingers through their hair, Lydia conspicuous in her absence - still not able to face the loft without Allison. And Derek, looking just as tired as the rest of them, watching Stiles with wary eyes. Not that Stiles can blame him. It’s the first time that he feels even the semblance of safety, and maybe it’s the weeks of trying to stay awake, half-dozing for a few minutes when his body starts to shut down. Maybe it’s that he no longer cares if the Nogitsune takes him over again, except he does. But he’s just so _fucking tired._  And so he closes his eyes, knees tucked into his chest, and lets his head drop forward, a tight, controlled ball of nerves and pain.

When he wakes up, feeling something close to well-rested but a bit too stiff to be anything more than just shy of barely there, there’s a blanket wrapped around him and the loft is quiet and empty. He makes it downstairs to the jeep before he’s having trouble breathing, counting his fingers over and over again as they clutch desperately at the steering wheel. He makes it home somehow, and stands in the shower, body shaking, until the water runs cold and his lips turn blue.

He doesn’t sleep again for a week.

Not until they’re all back in the loft, Isaac quietly talking with Derek; Kira tucked under Scott’s arm on the couch watching a movie that Stiles has no real interest in. He can feel Derek’s eyes on him again; little darting glances, never resting too long, and never when Stiles brings his head up to look back. He sighs and curls tighter around himself, muscles tensing and bones creaking, as if he can hold all the little pieces of his soul together if he just _tries_  hard enough. His eyes have just drifted closed when he hears a rustle of fabric, and a warm weight settles over him, tucked around him with sure hands. The whisper of fingers in his hair.

He’s not alone when he wakes up this time. Derek is sitting in the chair across from him, hands folded in his lap, watching him with the same wary look that’s always there whenever they’re in the same room. Stiles manages to swallow down his panic, choking out an apology before he runs out. He doesn’t let himself think until he’s in the jeep, ten fingers - _ten, there’s ten -_ gripping the steering wheel as he tries to remember how to breathe. The shower turned as hot as it can go only barely touching the ice inside him.

It’s different this time, walking into the loft. They’re all piled together on the couch; Scott with Kira beside him, Isaac stretched out, head in Scott’s lap, feet scrunched up to make room for Derek. He stares at them, fog in his head keeping him from moving as he tries to figure out what’s happening. He looks for Scott’s eyes, only moving when Scott nods at him and beckons him over with the small flick of a wrist. He stops cautiously at the end of the couch, lowering himself gingerly down beside Derek, Derek who’s watching him with those wary green eyes.

He puts as much space as he can between them, thinking that Derek wouldn’t welcome his touch. Who would? He’s in the process of leaning away, arms already tightening around himself, when a strong arm grabs him around the waist and gently tugs him into a warm side. He tenses for a moment, holding his breath, waiting for... well, he’s not sure what. When nothing more happens than Derek running soothing fingers through his hair he relaxes, bit by bit, until he’s curled into Derek, an arm around his waist. And he sleeps. 

He wakes screaming, struggling to breathe under the weight across his chest, pushing and shoving to free himself. He doesn’t know where he is, all he can see is a ceiling stretching impossibly high above him. All he can feel are walls pressing in on him. He holds his hands in front of his face, panicking when he sees extra fingers before realising that they don’t belong to him. He becomes aware of a voice, low and calm, telling him to breathe; the weight on his chest is an arm, and it’s rubbing soothing circles on his skin, warm, gentle movements matching the voice at his neck.

A finger taps each of his, softly counting each one, over and over while his breathing slows. He concentrates on that finger, silently mouthing the numbers until he closes his eyes and sinks into the body pressed against his back. Derek. Of course it’s Derek. A hand on his cheek, thumb stroking back and forth along his jaw, fingertips tangled in the hair behind his ear. He drops his head into a trembling hand, the other gripping the arm still around his waist, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Derek just holds him until he quiets, brushing his fingers though his hair, pressing soft kisses to the back of his neck. It’s night by the time he’s cried himself out, too weak to move from his position on the couch. Derek just pulls him closer.

“Go to sleep Stiles. I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
